Free Web NovelChapter 441: Eryon
Kyrian carefully stored the scrolls away, organizing them within his spatial ring, separating the original from the copies, the notes from the studies.
That was when he heard footsteps from the other side of the door.
The man had awakened.
Kyrian put on a simple violet robe, the newest among those he had purchased in Red Smoke City, still carrying the scent of fresh fabric.
Then he left the room.
The gentle aroma of tea immediately filled the air.
Not the strong, astringent tea from the previous day, with its earthy and complex notes.
But a lighter tea, floral and delicate, with a hint of honey. The small table had already been prepared.
Two white porcelain cups, painted with cherry blossoms, steamed quietly. freewebnovel.cσ๓
The man was seated.
He looked tired, more so than the day before, more than when Kyrian had first seen him.
Dark circles beneath his eyes. Slightly paler skin. Yet calm.
"Come."
Kyrian approached.
He sat across from him, in the same position as the previous day, on the same dark blue velvet cushion.
He picked up the cup.
The tea was warm, steam rising in gentle spirals.
The spiritual energy contained within it spread softly through his body, not like black Qi, which invaded and dominated.
But like a current, flowing through his meridians, nourishing his tissues, calming his senses.
The man observed him for several seconds.
"So?"
"Have you made a decision?"
Kyrian nodded.
"I will cultivate the technique."
A small trace of surprise appeared in the man’s gaze, not the surprise of someone who doubted, but the surprise of someone who had expected a different answer.
"But not now."
"First, I want to find a way to use it without suffering the consequences that you suffered."
The man remained silent. He did not say it was impossible.
He merely nodded, slowly.
"I hope you succeed."
He looked out the window, toward the herb garden, toward the brightening sky, toward the life awakening outside.
"The technique is too useful to disappear."
Kyrian took another sip of tea.
The warm liquid traveled down his throat, the heat spreading through his chest. Then he spoke.
"If I find a solution..."
The man turned his attention back to him, his old eyes tired, yet sharp.
"...I will return to help you."
Silence.
Not the tense silence of the previous day, when two strangers had observed one another with suspicion.
A silence of understanding.
Then the man let out a sincere laugh.
A laugh that lasted several seconds, genuine and light, as though something inside him had finally loosened.
"Is that a promise?"
Kyrian shook his head.
"No. It’s merely a warning."
"If I succeed, you’ll know."
The man continued smiling.
Then he sighed.
"If it takes more than two years..."
He raised the cup to his lips, steam rising before his face, obscuring his features for a brief moment.
"...I might no longer be here."
His voice remained calm.
As though he were speaking about the weather, the wind, the rain, something that could not be changed.
"If you return and find only a gravestone..."
He smiled faintly, a sad smile, but one of acceptance.
"...leave a cup of tea for me."
Kyrian remained silent for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
"Understood."
The man stood up.
He walked toward a small shelf, not the main shelf filled with books and jars, but a smaller, more discreet shelf hidden in the corner of the room.
He returned carrying a small wooden box similar to the one containing the black sprout, but smaller and simpler.
"Take everything."
Kyrian observed him.
"The original scroll. My notes. The sprout."
He placed the box upon the table, the click of wood against wood echoing through the silence.
"And this."
Kyrian opened the lid.
Inside were a dozen needles. Extremely thin. Almost invisible.
Carefully arranged within a black leather case, each one resting in its own compartment, protected by a thin layer of padding.
"The Endless Needles are difficult to produce."
"The process is slow, the materials are rare, and black Qi is unstable."
"Consider this a gift."
Kyrian closed the box.
He stored everything within his spatial ring, the scrolls, the needles, and the sprout.
"Thank you."
The man smiled.
"Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t even begun."
The two remained silent for several moments.
The tea in their cups gradually cooled.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, its golden light now flooding the garden, warming the herbs, and drying the morning dew.
Then Kyrian rose to his feet.
"I have a few matters to take care of."
The man nodded.
"Very well."
Kyrian walked toward the door.
His footsteps were steady, yet slow, as though something held him there.
Then he stopped. He turned around once more.
"I still don’t know your name."
The man seemed surprised.
He blinked several times, as though the question had been unexpected. Then he let out a brief laugh.
"It’s been so long..."
He remained silent for a few seconds. Then he answered.
"Eryon."
Kyrian repeated the name in his mind.
"Eryon."
’A different name, just like mine.’
’Perhaps from an isolated region like my own.’
The man nodded, as though reading his thoughts.
"It has been many years since anyone called me that."
Kyrian looked directly at him.
His violet eyes, with the faint lightning hidden within the depths of his irises, met the man’s weary gaze.
"Thank you, Eryon."
The man once again raised the cup to his lips.
"Take good care of that technique."
Kyrian nodded. Then he opened the door.
The morning light flooded the interior of the small house.
Not the pale light of dawn, but the golden light of the rising sun, warming the skin and illuminating the shadows.
Outside... the Sky Caravan was awakening.
Merchants arranged their stalls, stretching out awnings, displaying goods, and shouting offers.
Cultivators walked through the streets, some hurried, others calm, all alive.
Workers carried merchandise, wooden crates, metal barrels, and cloth sacks.
The wandering city continued to thrive.
Kyrian took several steps outside. But Eryon’s voice made him stop.
"Kyrian."
He looked back.
The man remained seated at the table, his teacup still cradled between his hands, steam rising slowly before his weary face.
"I sincerely hope you succeed."
Kyrian remained silent. Then he replied.
"So do I."
Then he turned away once more.
His footsteps carried him farther from the small house, farther from the herb garden, the scent of tea, and the man seated at the table.
Within his spatial ring rested the scrolls. The needles. The black sprout.
His gaze lifted toward the sky.
For a brief instant, the image of that colossal eye appeared once more within his mind.
The countless Black Points spread across it. Thousands. Millions.
’Azhura’k...’
Kyrian continued walking.
Toward the bustling streets of the Sky Caravan.
It was time to search for cultivation techniques. It was time to study. It was time to gather the knowledge necessary to finally forge his own path.
And perhaps... a path capable of using the Endless Needles...
Without paying the same price Eryon had paid.
